


Don't Feel Like Outsiders At All

by PlayingChello



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Drug Use, Gay Panic, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, and it's 1994, it's just weed but like, probably, so no pennywise I guess, the gang is like 17/18 in this, this is real gay alright, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 03:10:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21237170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: “What’s shotgunning?”Bev smiles and it’s practically wicked. “Ben?” Ben, ever a puppy when it comes to Beverly, sits up on his knees, nodding his consent. She takes a long hit and holds it still before leaning in close to Ben’s mouth. As she lets the smoke out of her mouth, Ben breathes it in through his. The action is intimate and a little strange to watch, but it makes Richie long for something he’s sure he’ll never get. Something he’s trying to forget he wants.“Ok.”Just some Losers being Losers. And Eddie being real brave.





	Don't Feel Like Outsiders At All

**Author's Note:**

> This is all because of my RP partner putting this idea in my head and not letting me live.

Eddie descends the ladder into the clubhouse just as the sun is setting on the horizon of the warm summer day. It’s a Loser’s Club meeting night, a time to just hang out. They’ve got Bill’s dad’s projector and Richie’s mom’s TV/VHS player combo. When he touches down, half the group is wearing Stanley’s shower cap things. When he’s offered the coffee can holding them, Eddie glances around and decides not to take one when he sees Richie isn’t wearing one, as usual.

“Spaghetti! You’re late, jackass.” Richie’s voice shouts over the sounds of everyone talking in their individual groups.

“Fuck off, asshole, I had stuff to do.” Eddie finds himself a perch to sit on, annoyed that Richie somehow has managed to claim the hammock, _again_. “How are you always on the hammock? It’s supposed to be for everyone.”

“Snooze, you lose, Eds.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, “Don’t call me that.” He reaches over and grabs a Red Vine out of Bill’s hand and starts munching on it. “So what are we watching?”

Stan sits down next to Bill and pulls out the video tapes, “Well, we have Hocus Pocus. Or we can watch The Lost Boys for the millionth time.”

Ben, quiet up until now, pokes his head up from whatever piece of the clubhouse he’s set on improving, “I want to see Hocus Pocus, I heard it’s good.”

“S-s-seconded,” Bill stuttered.

Mike pouts, “I want Lost Boys.”

Stan shrugs, “It’s a good movie, but I’d rather watch the newer one. My vote is with Hocus Pocus. Richie?”

Richie shrugs, turning a page in the magazine he’s reading, “Whatever.”

“Wow, no opinion, Trashmouth? Shocker.” Eddie takes another bite of his Red Vine, “We can watch Lost Boys any time, let’s do Hocus Pocus.”

Everyone turns to Bev, the only one yet to offer her opinion. “Sorry, Mike, I’ve been wanting to see Hocus Pocus for a while now, too.”

“Then it’s settled,” Bill announces. Stan takes The Lost Boys and puts it back in his bag while Bill takes Hocus Pocus out and puts it in the VCR. “Make sure you can all see.”

Eddie’s position is less than convenient, sitting facing away from the little TV. So he scopes out the small clubhouse for a place to sit. When nothing jumps out at him, he zeroes in on the prime spot Richie is occupying, planning to kick him out of the hammock. He pops the last of his Red Vine into his mouth before going over with the intent to start one of their famous hammock arguments. Before he opens his mouth, though, Richie arches a brow and looks at him. “I’m not moving, if you want to sit here, you’ll just have to share.”

He wasn’t expecting that response. It’s practically ritual that they have a loud verbal argument over the hammock and then end up sharing it, but it’s nearly unheard of for them to skip the yelling part. The implication makes heat rise to Eddie’s cheeks, but he rubs at his nose quickly to try to take attention off himself before taking another step toward the hammock, “Fine.”

It’s a lot harder to climb into the hammock calmly rather than in a fight of grappling against Richie. In the process, Eddie’s pretty sure he kicks Richie pretty hard in the ribs, but he hears no complaints, so he doesn’t apologise. By the time he manages to settle himself into a somewhat comfortable position, Bill has gotten the movie set up and has fast forwarded through most of the previews. After a harsh shush from Ben, everyone quiets while the movie starts.

\--

Richie Tozier is a shining example of the term ‘self depreciation.’ His humour and his jokes are a shield and they keep him safe from himself and everyone around him. It keeps him from thinking too hard about the words people like Bowers say. It keeps him from considering what the fluttery feeling in his gut could mean when he looks at his best friend.

And yet, today, he can’t even bring himself to muster up his usual level of joking around. And now he’s watching some kids crying over a dead cat on a tiny screen while said best friend is pressed up against him in way too many places. Without his humour and with everyone else focused on the emotional scene taking place on screen, he has no walls, no shield to hold up and lie to himself than the fluttering doesn’t mean anything.

By the time the movie is over, Richie is still having an internal crisis about the way Eddie’s calf is pressed against his arm. He’s got good calves. Must be all the biking. Or something. It doesn’t matter. He’s got nice thighs.

And, out of the corner of his eye, Richie can see Eddie has a tear running down his face. He knows he would normally call him out on it, make fun of him for crying at a dumb movie. But, if Richie’s being honest, it is pretty sad, and he doesn’t really feel like making fun of Eddie tonight. What he really wants is for the movie to be over and for Bev to pass out the joints he _knows_ she has. And then maybe his brain can float away and he can regain some semblance of his normal demeanor before anyone notices how off he is.

When the movie comes to an end and the credits roll, some of the other Losers rub at their eyes surreptitiously. Apparently, Eddie isn’t the only one the movie had an effect on. It’s not surprising, though. Had Richie not been so focused on exactly how much of Eddie’s body has been pressed up against his own, he knows he would have probably been just as affected.

A silence settles in the club house as everyone recovers from the movie. It’s almost like they’re expecting something. Richie looks around for a moment before sighing, “What the fuck is with all the mopey faces, it was a happy ending.”

“There he is,” Stan says, as if he had been waiting for him.

Bev giggles softly. “Beep beep, Richie,” she mutters as she pulls her bag closer and starts rummaging through it. “Who wants one?” She holds out a few joints.

“Fucking finally, give one up here.” Richie has never been happier to see a joint in his life.

Bev gets up just enough to pass one up to him. Before she sits back down, Bill waves for her to pass him one as well. She takes the last one and returns to her spot on the floor. Richie and Bev each pull out their own lighters and Richie tosses his to Bill when he’s got his own joint lit. Bill passes the joint he has between himself, Stan, and Mike while Bev shares hers with Ben.

Richie, knowing before he even asks what the answer will be, offers his joint toward Eddie. “Want some, Eds?”

As expected, Eddie shakes his head, “How many times, Tozier? And no, I prefer to be able to breathe, thank you very much.”

“Aw, come on, Eddie, you never smoke with us,” Bev tries. She’s always wanted to get Eddie high. “We even managed to talk Mike into it.”

“Only a little. My Grandfather would _kill_ me if he found out.”

“Yeah, Edster, you need to loosen up,” Richie adds, taking another pull from the joint himself. The marijuana is already starting to hit his brain. He likes the gentle floating sensation he gets from it, the way it makes him loose and pensive.

Eddie just looks around the room at the other Losers. “If I burn my lungs, I won’t be able to breathe, and then I’ll have an asthma attack. Plus, you know how bad that stuff is for you? It can cause all sorts of different diseases.”

Before he can get started in on exactly what illnesses smoking can cause, Bev speaks up. “What about shotgunning? You won’t burn your lungs then.”

Richie swallows hard, considering the impossibility of Eddie doing such a thing. With him.

“What’s shotgunning?”

Bev smiles and it’s practically wicked. “Ben?” Ben, ever a puppy when it comes to Beverly, sits up on his knees, nodding his consent. She takes a long hit and holds it still before leaning in close to Ben’s mouth. As she lets the smoke out of her mouth, Ben breathes it in through his. The action is intimate and a little strange to watch, but it makes Richie long for something he’s sure he’ll never get. Something he’s trying to forget he wants.

“Ok.”

Richie is so far in his own head it takes him several moments to realise that Eddie has actually _agreed_ to it. He never saw that one coming. Bev grins her grin which means she’s definitely plotting something before looking straight at Richie. “Go on then, Richie.”

His eyes widen as her intentions are made clear. “What, why me? You’re the one who suggested it.”

She smiles sweetly, “You’re closer. And I’m already sharing with Ben.”

Richie glances around for anyone that might be on his side of this. This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. But none of the other faces looking back at him seem at all sympathetic to his cause. He either gets shakes of the head or shrugs from each of the other teens. He sighs, resigning himself to the fact that he can’t get out of this assignment. Not that he realistically wants to. This is literally a fantasy of his. But he really _really_ doesn’t want anyone else there to know that.

“Alright, Spagheds, come ’ere before I change my mind.” They shuffle around until they’re sitting so they can more comfortably lean into each other. Richie’s long legs lay to either side of Eddie while Eddie’s legs bend over top his, leaning against Richie’s waist on either side. Richie has to breathe through his mouth a few times just to keep from saying something stupid. Well, more stupid than usual.

Eddie is staring at him with such an earnest look and it makes Richie’s whole body heat up. He blinks to try to clear his head of all the annoying _feelings_ bubbling to the surface before taking a deep hit from the joint in his fingers. He holds in the smoke, not inhaling, before leaning forward. At the same time, Eddie leans closer to him. His eyes are wide and there’s something there in them Richie can’t place.

They’re so close when Richie finally opens his mouth again and gently exhales the smoke into Eddie’s waiting mouth. One wrong move and he’d have his lips on Eddie’s. Or maybe it would be one right move. Fuck, what is he thinking? Of course it would be a wrong move. He’d get to feel Eddie’s lips on his, sure. But would that really be worth the ensuing fall out? The hatred from all of his friends? Losing Eddie?

No.

He can’t do that.

So he stays as still as humanly possible until Eddie leans back again. “Make sure you breathe it in, like when you take your inhaler.” Bev’s encouraging tone breaks Richie out of his reverie somewhat and he watches the way Eddie seems to be holding his breath, like he’d probably seen everyone else do at some point. And now his face is turning a little blue and it would be cute if it weren’t a little terrifying.

“You can breathe out now, dipshit.”

He probably should have anticipated the way Eddie immediately exhales directly into Richie’s face, but instead he’s caught by surprise. He waves the smoke away in annoyance, even as he goes to take another hit off his joint.

Moments later, Eddie is leaning forward again, expectant. Richie sighs internally and leans himself forward, sucking in more of the smoke. Once more, they repeat the process while Richie’s heart pounds out of his chest in fear of something going wrong. Once Eddie leans back again, Richie smirks, “Hey, Eds.”

Eddie looks up at him while his breath is still held, raising a brow as if to say, ‘go on.’

“I kissed your mother with this mouth.”

At that, Eddie sputters out the smoke he had been holding in, reaching forward to slap at Richie. But he’s expecting the retaliation. He moves his own hand up to block the attack and reaches out with his other, mindful of his joint, to mount his own attack. After a few moments of slapping at each other and almost dropping the joint, they settle into a half truce, tangled in each other’s limbs.

The group falls into comfortable banter while passing around snacks and chatting about anything and everything. Richie feels himself loosening up and acting a lot more normal. He doesn’t even think about all the ways he’s in contact with Eddie because thinking about it is too much effort and it feels too good to bother worrying. Even Eddie seems to be less anxious, and every once in a while he’ll lean forward and silently ask Richie for another hit. Richie is pretty sure their mouths have gotten a little closer each time, although he can’t fathom how that’s possible since they were practically kissing the first time.

What he wouldn’t give to cross that barrier. To throw caution to the wind and just… close that final little gap. But even high, he knows that would be too much of a risk. There’s just too much to lose. Even if there is everything to gain.

\--

It’s near 11 by the time the group starts breaking up and heading their separate ways. Stan and Bill walk together toward their homes, Ben breaks off pretty early to head toward his place. Mike and Bev go off together for a bit until they get to their houses, leaving Eddie and Richie walking together in the late summer air of Derry.

“Going home, Eds?”

There’s an almost resigned sigh, “Quit calling me that, Rich. And, yeah, that’s the plan.”

Richie glances over at Eddie. “You could come stay over at my place if you want.” The offer isn’t unusual, Eddie and Richie have spent many a night at each other’s houses. But Richie still feels like it’s some kind of momentous occasion for some reason.

Eddie shrugs, “Sure, beats sitting at home.”

“Aw, don’t want to spend some quality time with the lovely Sonia Kaspbrak? What an awful son.”

Eddie bumps into him with his shoulder, “Can it, Trashmouth, or I will go home and then _you’ll_ be all alone.”

Richie knows it’s a joke. He knows Eddie is only ribbing him because he ribbed him first. But it still hurts to hear it. He doesn’t want to be alone. But really, he doesn’t want _Eddie_ to leave him alone.

Fuck this stupid feelings bullshit.

“Shutting up,” Richie says, a little softer than can really be considered to be a normal response. Eddie gives him an odd sidelong look, but doesn’t comment on the response.

The walk side by side from there. It isn’t far to Richie’s place and before long they’re fighting to be the first one in the dark and quiet house. Their feet pound against the floor as they run up the stairs into Richie’s room. Once there, Eddie flings himself across Richie’s bed and Richie tosses his bag in a corner before climbing up himself. He lays across the foot of the bed, since Eddie is taking up most of the rest of it, and stares up at his ceiling, tracing the crack in the plaster with his eyes.

“Hey, Rich?”

Richie pulls his eyes away from the crack and cranes his neck to be able to face Eddie, “Yeah, Eddie Spaghetti?”

Eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything about the name. “You still learning guitar?”

The question comes as a surprise to Richie. “Yeah, it’s in the closet.”

Eddie sits up, crossing his legs and holding his ankles. “Play me something.”

The way he says it has Richie’s heart pounding hard in his chest. It’s not really anything special, but there’s something behind his tone that is so pure, so expectant, that Richie can’t even think to deny him, and yet he wishes for nothing more than to be able to. It’s true, he’s been learning how to play guitar for a while. He’s even pretty good at it. And he’s even played in front of his friends before, annoyed them all with his renditions of whatever Aerosmith song he was learning at the time.

But this is Eddie. Alone. Asking him to play something. Stil, he drags himself back up and rummages around to find his guitar. It’s a simple acoustic he found in the pawn shop and saved for months to get. It’s one of his most prized possessions.

He returns to the bed, sitting on the edge and making himself comfortable. He faces away from Eddie, mostly because it’s more comfortable to hold the guitar that way but also because he’s pretty sure if he has to look at Eddie he’ll explode.

Before starting, Richie plays an experimental chord. Since it’s been a bit since he last played, the guitar has fallen a bit out of tune, so he spends a few moments tuning the instrument. But a few expert twists of the pegs find him with a lovely sound once more.

Richie closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before playing a few notes. The repetitive nature of the tune makes it easy for his fingers to fall into. And before long, he’s singing softly along to his playing. “_I’ve been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks. I’ve been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap._” He continues through the chorus of the song before he accidentally hits a bad chord and decides that’s a good place as any to stop. He turns his neck to look back toward his friend.

Eddie is staring, mouth slightly agape. He’s so pretty like this, Richie really does want to lean over, close his mouth with a finger, and kiss that cute expression off his face. But that’s exactly the kind of thing Richie is trying _not_ to think about his best friend, so he stays where he is and does the only thing he can think of. “Careful, Eds, you’re gonna catch flies with your mouth open like that. I mean, I know I’m a god of music, but you wouldn’t want to get fucking malaria or whatever it is you’re always talking about.”

That works. It snaps Eddie out of whatever shock he was in and sends him scowling. Richie mourns the loss of that expression but is thankful at the same time that the urge to kiss is just slightly lessened. “You get malaria from mosquitoes, dumbass.”

Richie places his guitar down carefully before turning and holding his hands up in surrender. “Oh right, how could I ever have gotten that wrong?”

This sends Eddie into a tirade describing the difference between a mosquito and a fly and listing all of the various illnesses someone could acquire from either one. Richie can’t help but smile a little at the way Eddie rambles, not even realising how little Richie cares about the content of his speech. But Richie still stares and pretends to listen if only to keep watching how passionate Eddie gets.

_Cute._

“Richie?”

Richie shakes his head, clearing his thoughts and going back to actually paying attention to what is being said. “Hmm?”

“Did you hear a single word I just said?”

“Not a single one, Eduardo. You’ll put me to sleep with all that disease talk. Let’s do something fun!”

And in a complete turn around shock of the century, Eddie responds with, “Do you have any more weed?”

Richie, completely oblivious as to why he could possibly want to smoke since he has always only ever complained about everyone smoking around him until literally a few hours ago, just nods.

Eddie grins so innocently, but Richie knows it’s full of something far less innocent. “We could do that shotgunning thing again.”

It’s going to be a long night if everything that comes out of Eddie’s mouth sends Richie’s brain into a short circuit. It takes him several long moments to comprehend the implications of the suggestion. And once again, he curses himself for not being able to say no to any of Eddie’s perfectly reasonable requests. Because getting that close to Eddie, alone, is going to send him into a heart attack.

Still, Richie complies. He gets up to dig to the very back of his desk drawer, where he keeps a film canister that hides the three joints he has left that Bev gave him a couple weeks ago. She always gets the best shit, he should really bug her for her sources. He pulls one out and flicks his lighter open and shut a few times as a bit of a nervous tick before sitting back down on the bed, a bit closer to Eddie this time. Eddie also scoots a bit closer to Richie, looking a little odd and even unsure of himself, for whatever reason. But Richie figures it’s probably just nerves about getting caught or thinking about whatever germs he might catch from doing this.

When they’re both sitting side by side on the edge of the bed, Richie lights the end of the joint, sucking in some of the smoke. When he turns his head, Eddie is already so close, but he leans in even closer before opening his mouth. Eddie rests one of his hands on Richie’s shoulder to steady himself and he draws in the smoke Richie exhales.

Eddie leans back when he’s gotten his fill, but only just. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to move away. Richie hangs there, frozen in the moment, before he finally gets ahold of himself and turns forward once more to take a hit of his own. He’s barely finished exhaling before Eddie is leaning back toward him. Their arms supporting them are in contact nearly the whole way down between their bodies and Richie just might actually hyperventilate if he doesn’t get a handle on himself.

Richie draws in another hit before turning back to Eddie. This time, Eddie’s face is barely separated from his own. It’s so close, that Richie can’t even tell if they’re lined up properly. His hand is up and holding Eddie’s face still before he even realises he’s moved it, and by then, it’s far too late to take it away. So he lets himself hold Eddie’s face while he parts his lips, gently exhaling smoke into Eddie’s waiting mouth.

They’re so close that Richie can feel the ghost of Eddie’s lips against his as they share the smoke between them. It’s surreal, and definitely an experience he will remember for the rest of his life as the moment he stopped lying to himself about being in love with his best friend.

And then the ghost of pressure isn’t a ghost anymore.

Richie’s eyes fly open when he realises their lips have made undeniable, untake-backable contact. For a moment, he’s terrified Eddie is going to hit him or yell at him or something equally full of rage at Richie taking advantage of him or something like that. But when he sees the way Eddie has his eyes squeezed shut and he looks about as terrified as Richie feels, he wonders if it wasn’t a slip of the hand holding Eddie’s face, still so soft and gentle, but rather _Eddie_ that closed that barely there distance between their lips.

Eddie tastes like… Well, weed for one. But that’s a surface level experience. There’s a lot more deeper down that Richie wants to stay and explore, so desperately. He wants to figure out what exactly the medicinal taste is riding under everything, he wants to try and place the almost floral taste riding just beneath the surface of the weed. He wants to kiss Eddie for the rest of eternity just to try to work out exactly how to describe how much he loves kissing Eddie.

Then Eddie pulls away.

“Sorry, I-” He cuts himself off, looking at Richie in terror, which must be like looking into a mirror considering the shock and fear Richie feels in that moment. They just _kissed_. Or… well Richie can’t really call it that, entirely. It was more like a meeting of half open mouths. No real intent behind it.

But _still_.

The silence fills the air between them, thick and oppressive. A tension that could be cut with a knife. The two boys stare at each other with faces full of fear, but neither of them seemed to have the courage to break the silence and talk about what had just gone down. Richie’s heart is beating hard, it feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest. 

At the same time Richie goes to say, “It’s alright,” Eddie says “I was just-” and they both go silent again, cutting themselves off. Richie makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh while Eddie pats at his pocket, presumably for his inhaler. But he doesn’t take it out.

“So, are we gonna talk about that or pretend it never happened?” Richie asks, not even sure which option he would prefer.

Eddie makes a face that Richie can’t really read. “Do you want to pretend it never happened?”

Unable to bring himself to answer because he doesn’t want to lie but to be truthful would just be too much, Richie counters with, “Do you?”

The response is the quietest thing Richie has ever heard come out of Eddie’s mouth. Eddie Kaspbrak, motor mouth with a tendency to yell loudly and exuberantly about whatever has his attention at any given moment, speaks so quietly Richie almost doesn’t hear the singular word.

“No.”

Richie sucks in a breath, not sure he can trust what he’s pretty sure he heard. “Okaaaay,” he says slowly, dragging out the vowel. “So, we talk about it then.”

Eddie, brave Eddie. Brave, even though he thinks he’s a coward, Eddie. This brave boy that Richie is so head over heels for even though he can’t admit it, answers his with, “Can we do it again?”

“Jesus fucking christ, Eds, which part. The weed bit or the kissing your best friend bit?”

Eddie kicks at the carpet, not looking at Richie, “All of it?”

This night just keeps getting weirder and weirder. But Richie can’t say he’s exactly objectionable towards how it’s gone. He allows himself a small smile before lifting the joint back to his lips. Once more, he undergoes the entire ritual of pulling in the smoke and holding it in while he and Eddie close the distance between them. He decides that the hand on Eddie’s face is less weird, considering everything else that’s happened, so he reprises it. Gently holding onto Eddie’s face, he opens his mouth and exhales against Eddie’s lips.

When his mouth is empty of smoke, it’s natural to close the barely there space between them. This time, without the shock, Richie can take his time, memorising the way Eddie’s mouth feels against his. Eddie’s lips are soft, clearly well taken care of, unlike Richie’s chapped ones. And there’s something gentle in the way he presses against Richie.

This time, when they part, they both open their eyes to find the other staring back. All of the wind feels like it’s been knocked from Richie’s chest. He huffs, “So, uh, _that_ happened.”

“I really hope you brushed your teeth.”

Richie smirks, and he can see the way Eddie visibly groans before he even speaks. “Yeah, right before I gave your mom a big fat kiss.” The comment earns him a slap on the shoulder, but also a rare kind of smile that Richie has barely ever seen and it makes his heart ache.

Maybe being in love with his best friend won’t be so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This ship has ruined me. I am sad, depressed, and gay. So now I'm writing all of the fix-it fic because EVERYONE IS ALIVE AND NO ONE DIED OK. Also, I didn't have much opportunity in this but please know that Stan is the sass master that calls Richie on his shit except when it comes to flirting with Eddie because then he's just exasperated at the sheer magnitude of moron gay.
> 
> Anyway, I have a [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/playingchello). Please join me there, I have one sole reddie friend, I need more.
> 
> Also, I rp, and if you want to rp, please shoot me a message and maybe we can set something up.


End file.
